


Lapis Lazuli

by storylinecontinuum



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cardverse, M/M, Politics, Rating subject to change, Slow Burn, ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:28:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25171651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storylinecontinuum/pseuds/storylinecontinuum
Summary: Spades is in danger. The monarchy is in danger. But most importantly, Arthur’s life is in danger and the crushing fear that saving it isn’t anybody’s priority is a morbid kind of torture. With his life snuffed out, so would the last of Spades’ chosen monarchy be.But unbeknownst to him, the bells of the belfry were ordained to toll again. And he would be there to witness it.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of usuk week on tumblr.

He was going to die.

He was going to die, he was going to die, _he was going to die_.

Arthur took another deep rasping breath but the walls kept closing in around him. Damp moldy walls and rusted metal bars that acted as an ominous reminder of his predicament. He dug his fingers deeper into his coat, tightening the hold that was supposed to preserve body heat even though any semblance of that had long been seeped away by the cell’s chill.

He was trying to keep himself warm so he could think. But all his mind churned out was dead ends and wishful scenarios. There was no way anyone could escape this place.

Help could only come from outside and nobody who cared about him was close enough to help. He was disarmed. Wasn’t even sure if the meagre remainder of the royal guard knew where he was. They’d be miles away once his head rolled into the basket that was probably being set for it right now.

He shrunk in on himself, tucking his head closer between his shoulders.

Was it already time? Were they coming for him?

Nobody had given him a watch to keep track of the hours and how ironic it was that the Queen of Spades would be left without a watch on the threshold of death. Death. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around it.

Minutes passed, each feeling like a needle sliding through his flesh and his legs bounced as his nerve abandoned him. At some point he’d picked up a stray piece of metal to scratch something into the stone but his stomach plunged once he saw all the scribbles already there. Scribbles by men that were already gone.

At that moment he wanted to run back to the barred door and scream for Ivan to come back – although he hadn’t been able to persuade him before, Arthur was sure, now more than ever, that they could come to an agreement. He didn’t have to die for Ivan’s plans to work.

He could still remember their conversation when the Clubs king had stood before him in the little cell:

‘You have very green eyes, your Majesty. Green is the color of luck, is it not? Don’t worry – your death will bring much fortune to this land and its people.’

 _Goddammit all!_ He cursed internally.

Ivan was right - Clubs would flourish while Spades would suffer for it.

If only he’d had more time. He had been so close, _so close_ to putting it all back in order. His negotiations had brought the civil war to the cusp of being resolved. A queen without a king, he had managed to remain in the good graces of both sides and calm the conflict down to a simmer. Now his absence would tear the infant peace apart and spell Spades’ doom. Divided they stood no chance against Clubs.

But this was the last thing on his mind. Spades would burn, a war would ravage its territories yet all that ran through his head was the thought that he would be killed at the age of twenty-three. The thought terrified him, _paralyzed_ him.

He wasn’t ready for this, not in the least. History could tell countless stories of men facing their deaths without flinching but he suspected they’d never had to face the ugly reality of it in such a way.

He clasped his shaking hands and rested his head on them. At the same moment, a low sound drifted through the bars of his cell’s door and his whole body stiffened in attention.

At first it sounded like the rasping breath of someone wandering the hallways outside but eventually the noise revealed itself to be footsteps. A measured pace that scraped against rough stone with every footfall.

His heartbeat picked up. Every nerve in his body was sizzling with the instinct to flee and yet he shook off the impulse and surrendered to the helplessness of staying still, hoping that it wasn’t what he thought it was marching in his direction. In reality he couldn’t move a muscle even if he wanted to.

By the time the locks on his cell were being undone, their metallic clatter piercing him with spikes of fear, his eyes were glued to the cell’s entrance. And as the door swung open he found exactly what he’d tried so hard to purge from his mind.

Four men. Red cowls.

An executioner squad.

 _His_ executioner squad.

Dazed as he was by their appearance he didn’t even notice when the leading figure stepped closer and clamped its hand around his wrist. A harsh tug was what awakened him to reality and he felt a new rush of panic at how quickly he was being dragged out from his cell. Suddenly the place didn’t seem so dreadful anymore. There were much worse horrors waiting beyond.

Before long his awareness flowed back into him and he started struggling, thrashing in the other’s hold. He wasn’t chained – both his arms and legs were free – but it all seemed laughable in the face of his captor’s strength.

“No, _no_ , let me go!” He cried, all sense thrown out the window.

The walls began to admit a faint tumult from outside and it was either his cruel imagination or he was hearing the noise from the crowds gathering to bear witness to his death. This was a day of celebration in Clubs and no doubt a mob had already poured into the square just as they did for the deaths of petty criminals. At this point he was wrenching his body so hard his wrist threatened a sprain.

He saw the man holding him turn his head for a moment but the holes cut for his eyes only sent fresh fear coursing through Arthur’s veins. The red of the men’s cowls was an equally ugly sight, contrasting garishly against the stone walls, to say nothing of Clubs’ cheerful national green color.

This is how this nation did its dirty business. Red would be the color behind Clubs’ ascent, which would be baptized by Spades’ downfall.

“I don’t want to die, let me go!” He yelled louder.

The executioner’s grip was like steel.

_“I’m not going to die here!”_

“Oh my god, _shush_!”

The reproach caught him so unawares that he seized up, staring at the man gripping his wrist. Before he could so much as protest, however, the world was tilted at a ninety degree angle and he was being slung over the executioner’s shoulder.

It dug itself just below Arthur’s ribs and he hurried to fill his lungs with air for fear that he wouldn’t be able to.

“There we go. Now let’s get you secured.”

There were hands then, tying his arms and legs together, working with a haste that didn’t suggest an executioner’s leisure at all. In his bewilderment he managed to twist himself just enough to spot the one remaining executioner peering around a bend in their path but Arthur’s attention was recaptured when something brushed against his lips. He jerked in his captor’s hold.

_A gag?? He was being gagged??_

The bonds around his ankles and wrists he could understand but this? His indignant wail was swallowed by the off-white cloth.

His predicament seemed to please the man holding him over his shoulder though and he readjusted the queen and patted him as if smoothing away a lump in a flower sack. A few signals were exchanged between the cowled men and their group was dashing down the corridor that one of them had been checking out earlier.

One man had broken off at some point but Arthur was too stunned to notice it. Everything happening seemed surreal. The path they took led them through passage after narrow passage, low ceilings and rough masonry flashing by, and he couldn’t find a single trace of the main palace halls and colonnades.

His thoughts were a jumble, diluted with confusion.

Nobody waited for him to catch up however as the men suddenly halted and there was a tangible change in the air. Arthur took a deep breath through his nose. There was the unmistakable whiff of fresh air and he looked around frantically as the men busied themselves with something behind him. One of them barked something to the one holding him and the man whispered a quick ‘sorry’ before Arthur felt him reach up and tear the cowl off his head.

It wasn’t long before he pieced together that they had stopped under an overhang attached to the outside of the palace. The fresh air and the light pooling around his captor’s legs both indicated that. But what caught him unawares was the soft neigh of a horse and the clinking of reigns.

Then the world was suddenly on the move again.

He was heaved from his captor’s shoulder and unceremoniously deposited into the back of a wagon that lumbered to life as it was maneuvered out into a dingy street. Stone houses on both sides stood looming in eerie silence. The capital’s residents had cleared their homes to attend the execution.

What little he could see from his position was soon whisked away however as a smelly cloth was pulled over his body. He wriggled in protest but the wagon was jostled by two more people climbing on and then the horses were spurred into a mad dash, rendering all his squirming useless.

From that point on he could only rely on his hearing. The wagon rattled and creaked as it flew over the cobblestones and rising above all that din was his frantic heartbeat.

He didn’t know who these people were. He didn’t know what was happening.

But he still prayed it meant he was safe now.


	2. Chapter 2

A stuffy smell.

A stone in the road.

Filtered light that drifted in and out as the blanket shifted with the wagon’s movement.

Then finally, _finally_ , the surface under him stopped swaying and the world was rid of the noises of rickety wood. People’s voices took their place and a gentle rocking indicated that somebody had dismounted their transport before Arthur’s vision was flooded with light.

There was a man leaning over him.

“Rise and shine- whoa.”

The man balked and pulled back a little.

Arthur was by far not in the most charitable of moods. He’d spent hours (because those were definitely hours) of being jostled and thrown around like a sack of potatoes, with his hands and feet lashed together and almost suffocating under a ratty stained blanket. He suspected his imagination was too poor to puzzle out what those stains were.

And to add insult to injury – in the literal sense – the only interaction he’d had with his captors was after they’d hit a particularly bad bump in the road and Arthur had moaned in pain _only_ for a hand to pat him through the blanket and a voice to say: ‘Don’t worry Your Highliness, you’re out of the woods.’

_That_ was what he’d had to endure.

So he was perfectly justified in howling like an animal behind his gag the moment the blanket was pulled back.

The spectacular response of the man above him however was to just gawk at Arthur for a few moments. Then his features settled back into a grin and he chuckled with all the confidence of someone who, in Arthur’s humble opinion, needed a good kick in the arse.

“Do I have to be worried about you biting my fingers off if I try to remove that?” The man asked as he reached for the spit-soaked gag. Arthur’s mouth moved behind the cloth, producing a string of unintelligible sounds.

“I’ll take that as a no.” The man nodded and moved to untie the gag. The moment it was done Arthur spit out a mouthful of saliva, aiming at the other’s breeches but sadly missing.

“I said,” The queen snarled. “I would try if it wouldn’t give me indigestion.”

His tone seemed to send a flash of hurt across the man’s face but Arthur really couldn’t care less. His whole body was sore and weary, the tension in his muscles highlighting every bruise he had suffered from the harrowing ride. At least his captor had gone blessedly silent and Arthur took the chance to examine him.

The first thing he noticed was the thin pair of spectacles that looked like they had landed on the wrong type of person. He was tall, this brigand, though what was more unfortunate was the broadness of his shoulders which made it clear to Arthur just how much of a chance he stood if he were to ever engage the other in a fight.

The man’s hair, previously tousled by the ride, seemed rather lank as it settled, its golden color the only vibrant thing about it. It framed a handsomely chiseled face however and Arthur scoffed at himself for acknowledging that.

The last thing he noticed was the man’s tan. The people of Clubs had nowhere near such healthy complexions.

Arthur got an eyeful of it as he was lifted out from the wagon by those amply tanned arms after which his ankles were untied while the rope binding his wrists was secured to a tree in the small glade they’d stopped at.

That being done, the two men got to work setting up a temporary camp.

The third man from their group was conspicuously absent, along with one of the horses, and Arthur thought back to a moment during their journey when the cart had rattled to a stop and he’d heard the clatter of hooves fade off into the distance. A diversion perhaps?

The more he thought about it, the more it seemed these people knew what they were doing.

This was further corroborated in his mind when he noticed that the smaller of his captors looked very much like a citizen of Clubs, judging by his features and clothes. And Arthur would have examined that hypothesis further if it weren’t for the tall blond stepping in front of him and obscuring his vision.

Arthur bristled immediately. That pair of blue eyes was studying him in much the same way he’d studied the other before and it made some part of him squirm deep down.

“You know,” The man sighed finally. “When I said you were out of the woods, I actually meant that metaphorically.”

Arthur raised both his eyebrows at him.

“Do I look daft to you?”

“No. But you look wary.”

_Oh god, is he serious?_

“Forgive me if I sound like a lunatic,” Arthur said slowly. “But it might just have to do with the fact that I’m bound to a _tree_.”

The brigand had the nerve to smile at that and Arthur watched those broad shoulders move in a shrug under his cloak.

“Yeah well, consider that a safety precaution.”

“My safety or yours?” Arthur shot back.

Something akin to delight glimmered in the other’s eyes then and Arthur was reminded of one of his hunting hounds after he’d praised it.

“’S good to know Your Majesty already feels comfortable around us.”

“If I didn’t know better I’d say you were implying I have something to be worried about.”

The man’s gaze turned serious all of a sudden and Arthur scrunched his brow.

“Don’t you?” The former asked in a low voice. “Maybe we’re heinous rapists and cutthroats.”

Arthur graced him with a snort.

“No, you’re not.”

“Oh?”

The queen made sure he was looking down when he directed his gaze at the other.

“Men like you might trick someone into a shag or stab just about anybody but you sure as hell can’t earn an honest living to save your life. You’re after money.”

The reaction his words elicited was immediate. The other’s lips pressed into a thin line and all traces of his earlier smiles dimmed into something that resembled hurt again. He had gotten to the other man twice now, Arthur noted.

And yet he had spoken nothing but the truth – his captors’ goal in all this was clear. A queen’s ransom was no smaller than a king’s, especially for a kingdom that currently had neither.

“Your Majesty makes bold observations.” The man gritted out.

“The evidence is rather hard to miss,” Arthur shrugged and adjusted his back against the tree. “In any case, money will come more readily if I’m unharmed.”

“So that rope burn’s gonna cost me?”

“If I have any say in it.”

“Thank god for the gag then.”

“Alfred, come on...”

Both of them turned simultaneously at the third man who was kneeling next to a half-finished pile of kindling and looking vaguely uncomfortable. There was a pleading expression on his face that he directed at his companion. It seemed to work because the next moment ‘Alfred’ smiled as he dropped his buddy an apology and shuffled off to help finish their camp.

_Alfred… huh?_

Arthur committed the name to memory as he watched the other’s retreating back. Every piece of information about these men was valuable. And yet they didn’t seem too worried about shedding them: before long Arthur was able to glean that the shorter one was called Toris and that their companion who had ridden off earlier had done so to plant a fake trail.

As a result there were only two men guarding him. But Arthur was still skeptical about his odds.

He had been careful about observing the men as they had set up their camp and everything about the way Alfred moved had proved he was as sturdy as they came – someone who felt at home lifting logs and toiling under the sun. It was him Arthur had to worry about.

Toris, meanwhile, bore every mark of being a courtier. Hands free of calluses, traces of powder in his hair and shoe buckles that gleamed just a smidge too brightly. The two seemed to get along well however – ‘thick as thieves’ Arthur thought bitterly – and he reasoned that it made sense for their plan to have involved an inside man.

Only a courtier, a longtime resident of the palace, could know the twisted passages that had been used to smuggle Arthur to freedom. If you could call it that... But even if he did escape these two by some miracle, they were still somewhere in Clubs and Ivan would see him back on a silver platter in no time.

The truth was, Arthur realized as he stood tied to that tree, he was stuck between the devil and the deep blue sea.

So he had to choose the devil.

And speak of the devil, Arthur broke out from his musings just in time to see Alfred walk up to him with two bowls of food and his usual grin in place. If anything, the man bounced back quickly, Arthur had to admit. Alfred then procured a piece of rope from his belt and proceeded to tie Arthur’s ankles again.

“Let’s just switch these real quick,” He said, beginning to untie Arthur’s wrists. “We wouldn’t want His Majesty to ruin his impeccable clothes.”

_Part_ , Arthur thought. At the mention of clothes, he also couldn’t help the disdainful glance at Alfred’s stockinged legs. Clubs and Diamonds still thought stockings to be high fashion while Spades had long done away with them in favor of smarter attire. Nowadays only Spadian peasantry could be caught wearing the things.

And they did make Alfred look like a peasant no matter how good his calves looked in them.

“On the topic of clothes,” Arthur said as his wrists were freed. “I feel I should tell you that no self-respecting Spadian will let you into the capital looking like that.”

Alfred’s eyes automatically flitted down to himself and Arthur thought he was about to protest when the other just shrugged and nudged one of the bowls toward him.

“Good thing we’re not going to Spades then.” Alfred said as he settled down on the grass as well.

Arthur felt his brows furrow. Not going to Spades? No, that couldn’t be right.

Surely he had heard wrong.

But the doubts trickled like poison into his mind and Arthur licked his suddenly dry lips as he looked around them.

“Where are we?” He asked, fingers digging into the bowl in his lap.

“South of Clubs’ capital.” Alfred replied.

“South?”

“Yeah.” Alfred said between mouthfuls of stew. “Every road between Spades’ border and the capital is teeming with soldiers by now. But nobody’s going to look for us here.”

Arthur knew this wasn’t the answer he was looking for and he remained still with the tree digging into his back.

“Oh,” Alfred added after a while. “And I’m taking you to Diamonds to ransom you off to their king so there’s that.”

Every hair on Arthur’s body stood up at that and he barely managed to keep the dread from showing on his face as he stared at Alfred.

“Me and him made a little deal you see,” Alfred’s lips moved as he tonged a piece of meat between his teeth.

“That’s absurd.” Arthur cut in. “You know that whatever King Francis has promised you, we’ll pay double.”

Alfred raised a brow at that.

“Double what the wealthiest kingdom on the continent can offer?”

He paused then, his blue eyes boring into Arthur with unusual intensity, as if looking for some kind of reaction.

“This is their only monarch you’re talking about.” Arthur persisted. His answer didn’t seem to impress Alfred however who turned his attention back to his stew.

“Which makes you just as valuable to other kingdoms as well.”

A protest was already there at Arthur’s lips but Alfred beat him to it, apparently deeming it his turn to interrupt.

“Your kingdom is being torn by a civil war – I can’t expect to get much from it. If your people decide my demands are too steep, they might even cancel the exchange altogether. And you forget that a fraction of them don’t even want you back.” Arthur flinched. “I don’t need those making any trouble for me.”

The end of his little speech was signaled by a wave of his spoon and Arthur was reminded why this man was currently the bane of his existence. Each of those arguments was steel-plated. It sent a feeling of mounting despair creeping through his chest and he swallowed in response to the feeling. This was his second time trying to negotiate his way out of a bind today and it seemed just as doomed to fail as the first.

_The gods must be really proud of their sense of humor._

Sending a few more mental curses their way, Arthur moved to open his mouth again when he was cut short by Alfred raising his hand.

“It’s all set and done, Your Majesty. You’re just wasting your breath.” He said. Glacial fury seized Arthur’s face and it froze into an ugly mask.

“And you’ll be doing the world a favor if you saved yours permanently.” He shot back and all of a sudden Alfred was a bleeding wound before him once again.

“Strong words to say to someone whose mind you’re supposed to be changing.” He said, causing Arthur to scoff.

“As if there’s an ounce of sympathy in you.”

For a while after that Alfred was quiet before a sigh broke the silence and he rose to his feet in the semi-darkness that dusk had set over glade. A single orange iris glittered behind him in the form of the crackling fire.

“Well, you’re right about one thing,” He said, wiping the grass that clung to his thighs.

“Only sympathy can help you now.”

With that, Alfred fastened Arthur’s wrists to the tree and walked back to join Toris by the flames.

Stranded alone among the encroaching shadows, Arthur contemplated what lay ahead of him. In the end he decided to take back what he thought about being in the hands of the devil.

For all Arthur knew, the Queen of Spades had already drowned.


End file.
